'So, so.'
'Ye're like me. I prefer the serious picturs. Real life an' true love for me! Ha'e a sweetie? Oh, ye're smokin'. As I was sayin', ye're a queer lad, Macgreegor.' She leaned against his arm. 'What made ye stan' me a slider, an' a champion tea, an' they nice sweeties, an' a best sate in a pictur hoose—when ye wasna extra keen on ma comp'ny?'
'Dear knows.'
She drew away from him so smartly that he turned his face towards her. 'Oh, crool!' she murmured, and put her handkerchief to her eyes.
'Dinna dae that!' he whispered, alarmed. 'What's up?'
'Ye—ye insulted me.'
'Insulted ye! Guid kens I didna mean it. What did I say?'
'Oh, dear, I'll never get ower it.'
'Havers! I'll apologize if ye tell me what I said. Dinna greet, for ony favour. Ye'll ha'e the folk lookin' at us. Listen, Mary—that's yer name, is't no?'
'It's Maggie, ye impiddent thing!'